Which way could this go?
Which way is this going?
I sit here in the early morning darkness just breaking. Wind is a strong presence I am aware of, and it pushes foliage up close to the panes of glass.


what to write about these emotional processes of sound and colour and words and feeling and sensations and full eyed glances.

Each sentence has to have a verb and a noun or pronoun to function.
You can define every word in a sentence with another word, its grammatical definition
(article, noun, verb, pronoun, proposition, adjective).


folding from the view of neatly painted trees and old buildings into a lit up underground tunnel,
rounding and bursting into factories with the most incredible structure of rusty and blackened pipes, smoke stacks and rung ladders
to a high-way-- flanked with pines, gas cylinders
and signs printed in capitals
mounds of white-- sand,
overhead wires of trainlines
the greying autumn following the curve of the road
giving in-- to the banks of the river,
green woolly hills look up from its muddy surface
rolling back over their shoulders
and houses paved into their sides
we slide along the railed bitumen listening to pop music
and then stretch-- out along the ploughed and cropped plains,
a truck driver with one bare foot up on the dash, another biting his nails.
i notice our glass screen is splattered with the once living bodies of insects.


me and my friend whose really awesome and draws too, sat on the street and drew this really good and wonky building with lots of good pipes and chimneys sticking out of it.
People, so so many of them, rode past us on their bicycles and birds swept over in formation. Four different people stopped to ask us poignant questions: How do you draw? What do you do if you make a mistake? Why dont you take a photo? Do you do this for yourself or for schoolah?
and we found answers to set free like sentences torn from a book.
Sitting on the cobblestones soon made us cold, but it was really good to draw.
walking through a museum of many levels and so much art in golden frames, each time im in the elevator I sing.


white high heels riding a bicycle.
past piles of things, stacks of stuff, bits and bobs on tables and lined up in boxes.
walking through a market I realise how little stuff means when you have no where to put it.
and what does it mean anyway? why do we collect it and concern ourselves so much with it? when it is redundant. this need for things.


"sound is the finest movement there is, and it is the fullest and most open movement"
Patricia Bardi

I have come to Amsterdam to participate in a four day dance workshop called: Physical voice in the moving body, I am very excited about the intregation of these expressive elements and the potential of releasing sounds.


A beautiful clear lentil soup with leeks and a spoon of walnut pesto.
A brusque whirlwind of leaving so suddenly. I am here and feel like crying.
Last night I crashed my bike in the rain, and then barely slept before a long car ride here, and then I got lost among new streets that were made a long time ago.


She floored me--
she floored me
tearing holes in my stockings.
she floored me,
throwing my body into the concrete.
“Yes we have two kinds of herbal tea one is... (pointing to a line printed on the menu)* which is from the forest and very wild.” Oh yes i will have that one.
*“Krauterteemischung Prachenglut (zertifizierte Wildsammlung).”
At the bottom of the menu the coming musical performances are listed casually as just another dish.
“A new part of berlin comes into being, we are working on it” (a billboard, best read in a british accent)

As i complete my last lap the flying moments settle and piece together. i like the circles that naturally happen.


there have been things finding in berlin to fill my time with possible interest (mostly bodymindcentering, improvisation, laban classes...) but also feeling like i am ready to leave. like im burning so bright that im flying, beyond this grey and autumn turning.

have been really feeling this changing of seasons and like i need to leave while the leaves are still falling, there is an urgency in my whole body to keep moving and not get cold, and not stay for winter.
listening to suspended in gaffa by Kate Bush


I mail my regrets to last week
We are born everytime we leave the house.

From one of Sean.M.Whelan's poems.
This blog is somewhat chronological, but sometimes time slips for me and so it is good to flick backwards through the catalogue and check if I've got around to finally putting up bits and pieces in their places (its true i will be putting up some new photos and drawings soon, and they will be backdated).


i think making art can sometimes be dangerous. in the separation or isolation of something from everything else. i think it can be used potently sometimes, but i am much more interested in the art that happens in life and the life that can happen in art.


Improvisation easily surpasses the creative boundaries of what is available in a plan.

I wrote perhaps the longest piece of writing I had ever written in one sitting, on the train from Prague back to Berlin. I wont put it here, but if you would like to read it please email me.


listening to Ederlezi by Goran Bregović
everywhere i go i am aware of the sadness and beauty in everything. why are people so sad?
I drew squished ladybeetles, trodden on by the feet of unruly tourists and a birds eye view of people drinking tea from a tower.
listening to baro foro by Gogol Bordello
walking up a winding dirt track on the side of a hill, autumn spread all over the ground and falling from the sky, a golden light illuminating the spaces between all the leaves, and through their paper thin skin.


im in love with silence that exists when it could be easily filled with sounds (especially between people).
the revolution will not be made out of plastic,
synthetic polymers, polypropylene, polyurethane, styrofoam,
bak-e-lite, polyvinyl chloride,
teflon (polyethylene terephthalate),
melamine formaldehyde...
the revolution will not be made out of plastic, or reliant on petrol,
it will not
from oil.
The revolution will not be microwaved
the revolution will be handheld love letters written on paper, it will be dancing in random kitchens and eating with strangers, the revolution is a process which we will keep talking about as we are improvising and making constant changes...
I walked and watched the light hitting different surfaces and took photos of crumbling bricks and peeling paint. Prague is a lot less organised and more rambling than Berlin, and it feels different, i feel like a tourist in a film and not like the home feeling i had when arriving in Berlin. It is nice to wander and follow the wind.


Poetry should be an ongoing
conversation - in preference
to a period after that last line
a mockenbride used be used:

this leaves the space open for
another poem to form
and thus continuing the dialogue
rather than ending with a definitive.

(A period is written as "." and a mockenbride ":", a mockenbride is perhaps a made up word, this text came from my dream)
Wildlife Watching
Australians are advised to maintain a sage and legal distance when observing wildlife, including marine animals and birds. You should only use reputable and professional guides or tour operators and closely follow park regulations and wardens' advice. (This text was taken from the australian government smart traveller website for advice in the czech republic).
A tap slowly drips. The tap is slowly dripping.
The nightair is cold and thick with rain, coming in through the window, that I have opened. Turning its handle and pulling it in close, the sky is dark, but tiny lights from other windows flicker in with the fresh cold air.
The water in the bath is hot. And I am half submerged.


The light and air flow through the turning colours of leaves, and dirt and swans and canals and bricks and scrawling graffiti.


It is interesting how when you "travel" (whatever that means to you) your world becomes more tuned to the internal and your relationships with people over distances more intimate. You share things you wouldn't normally if you were in the same room.


Ive been thinking about chandeliers
and how I would like to live in a room with floorboards, cream wallpaper and a chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling.
a record player in a wooden box spinning the crackle of warm sounds.
"all spiritual teaching is merely a mutual reminding that our true natural state is enlightened and awake...It is our natural propensity to become whole.

all we need is right here inside." Andrew Paterson
listening to all is full of love by death cab for cutie (a bjork cover)
listening to long vehicle from the Chat noir, Chat Blanc soundtrack